The Chronicles from Within: Within Jigsaw
by bellaisapirate
Summary: AU: Evil shall with evil be expelled. Caitlin Rose is not evil, but John Kramer is. Isn't he?
1. Chapter 1

Hi, here I am with the revised and edited version of this story. This story is at this point (February 15, 2013) near complete at 217 502 words. It's split into several parts of what I've come to call the Within Chronicles. I will try to update once per week, since I obviously have so much material to work with. Please leave feedback if you like it. Cheerio!

* * *

The first thing I heard was the sound of dripping water. For a moment I thought I was in my bathroom, and that the dripping was that damn sink that just would not stay fixed. When I moved in I noticed the leak, and angrily I tried to get someone to fix it for me. Three plumbers and an ex-boyfriend later I gave up; it'd just have to drip for the rest of my stay in that place (but with a towel placed in the sink it didn't really bother me much anymore). A moment later, however, I realized that there was a draught in this place that made it impossible for me to be safe at home. My apartment wasn't exactly the Ritz, but it was nice enough and it definitely didn't have a smell to it. And my head felt heavy. My slender hand came up to rub the side of my face as I filled my nostrils with the scent again. Dark. That's what it smelled like. Dark. Like the basement in my mother's old house. I rolled to my side and felt uncomfortable, although the daze in my mind stopped me from realizing why.

"Hello?" I whispered hoarsely. It felt weird to talk; I realized how dry my mouth was and the feeling of my tongue sticking to the roof of my mouth made me shiver. My eyes fluttered open while I slowly filled my mouth with saliva again, running my tongue on the outside of my teeth carefully. I wanted to look around, that was my first instinct, to see where I was. Had I been in an accident? Was that why I wasn't at home? But hospitals had a very distinct smell and this wasn't it. I blinked, realizing that the room was dark. My head was thumping, an aching pain shooting from just above my right eye all the way to the back of my head. I cursed and made an effort to sit up, struggling for a long moment until I was finally upright, and there was a scraping sound as my soft palms touched the harsh ground. Wait. A gasp fell from my again moist lips as I ran my hands slowly across the surface, my fingers gracing the stone with ease. I knew where I was, somehow, but the knowledge was locked in the back of my mind by the pain and heaviness of my head. It was hard to concentrate and part of me wanted to lie back down. I blinked again, wishing I could see the room around me, but even though my eyes had gotten used to the darkness there wasn't much to see. Something big to my right, what could possibly be a door across the room and high above me was a dirty window.

_I was in a basement._ That was the information my mind hadn't earlier been able to handle. A basement. Not my basement, because I didn't have one, but _a_ basement.

As soon as that realization hit me a wave of panic flooded my brain. I'd been taken. Or kidnapped. Something. I hadn't given my permission to be taken to wherever I was, so someone must have escorted me there without my consent. Fear had my mind pounding even worse, and suddenly it felt like I couldn't breathe, as if my lungs didn't want to grant me air. It was too surreal. Things like this didn't happen. _People didn't just get kidnapped!_ My brain tried to grasp at the concept, to make sense of it, to question and challenge it, to prove it wrong. But it was impossible, there was no other explanation. I had been kidnapped. My lips trembled and I felt like vomiting, I leaned forward, until my forehead made contact with the concrete floor, and I sobbed angrily, still not yet completely in agreement with my brain of what had happened. There was still a silent wish deep in my heart that this was a mistake, that I'd just gotten lost, or been injured, or… but there was nothing. I leaned back up, and this time found a wall behind me to rest against. I pushed my hazel hair away from my eyes and tried to force away the intense fear that had gripped my heart. I had to accept what had happened; I had to, in order to move forward. To what? To finding out why I was there. Someone had taken me from my home and brought me to this place. But why?

"Can anyone hear me?!" My voice cracked when I tried to scream out, and nothing but a deafening silence echoed after my outburst. The dripping sound was gnawing at my sanity and I wanted it to leave me the hell alone. Another sob fell from my lips as I pushed against the wall to stand up, but my legs didn't carry me. My mind was swirling and suddenly even the faded room in front of me disappeared and made way for complete darkness. I closed my eyes to calm myself. There was no point in freaking out, of losing my senses.

My hands wandered, checking for injuries, for… traces of having been violated in more ways than one, and my heart hammered against my ribcage, making me feel like any minute they would snap like twigs. My hair was tousled, my sleek cheeks and pointy nose unharmed, and though my neck was sore I didn't feel anything out of the ordinary. It was then that I realized I was wearing the tank top and thin leggings that I always slept in, and in another fit of panic I felt my ribs, my stomach, my hip bones, and my hands traveled south… nothing. My clothes weren't fit for anything but sleeping, but they were intact and in place. With a wave of relief washing over me I couldn't hold the tears back. At least I hadn't been raped.

I lost my mind for a short moment but then I composed myself again, wiping the trail of tears away with the back of my hands. I needed to know where I was and why I was there. Did somebody want money? But that didn't make sense, I didn't have any. And my family didn't either, and we weren't close. There was nothing that anyone could give to get me back. Nothing anyone _would_ give to get me back. What was it then? I wasn't extraordinarily beautiful, I didn't stand out in a crowd, and I wasn't a young teenager but a mature woman. I couldn't understand. My eyes fell shut yet again and I tried to think back on the last thing I remembered, on the last moment before I'd been stolen from the safety of my home.

But it was completely blank. I could remember my whole life in great detail, but the past 24 hours weren't there, no matter how hard I tried. I pressed my eyes shut so tightly I could see stars, and I forced the image of my apartment into my head, and I knew I'd come home from work, I knew I'd sat surfing on my laptop for a while, and I knew I'd gone to take a shower. I knew it, but I couldn't remember it. I just knew it because that was my routine.

"Fuck," I mumbled and climbed to my knees, getting ready to stand up. Maybe I should try the door, or maybe I could find something, if I at least looked. As soon as I pushed with my left hand from the wall and tried to straighten my knees I fell back down, with bright colors dancing in front of my eyes as my head thumped even worse. My right hand clamped over my mouth as I dry heaved, a wave of nausea suddenly crashing down on me. I had been drugged. Another realization. I must have been. At least I assumed as much. How else could I have lost the past day of my life, and how else could I have been taken somewhere without even putting up a fight?

Suddenly I was distracted from my thoughts by a noise which caught my attention and I backed deeper into the corner I was huddling in. I refused to keep my back open, and if I was going to die I was going to put up as much of a struggle as I could. No one would take out Caitlin Rose without her at least doing some damage. I told myself this at least, though in reality my entire body was trembling and I prayed that whatever I was hearing wasn't someone who was intending to do me any harm. I was still dizzy and disorientated and I wasn't sure I'd even manage to do more than fall into a heap on the floor. What threat that'd be, I thought grimly as tears stung my eyes.

Keys jingled and a sound which made me think of the security chain in my apartment made my breath quicken. This could be it. This could be the moment I died, and the thought was so irrational I almost wanted to laugh. I was Caitlin Rose, a boring wallflower with barely any friends, an unexciting job and no romantic life to speak of. I should have been at home, alone in my apartment and not crouching in a corner like a terrified stray dog. A blinding light suddenly hit me and made me hiss in surprise, my corneas burning.

"Glad to see you're awake."

I didn't respond to the male voice, I was too busy rubbing my eyes, as fast as I could, because I didn't want to die blind, without seeing my murderer. There was a ruffling next to me, too close for comfort and I opened my eyes ignoring the stinging.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

My eyes were tearing up, and yet I managed to see the outline of a man. With the bright light coming in from the doorway behind him he almost looked like an angel, but of course I knew better. Finally my eyes stopped burning and I saw my captor. He was just a man. He looked like he was in his fifties, the white hair on his head being a dead giveaway. He didn't look mean; he had a kindness about his face, but also an indifference that scared me more than anything else. He looked like a man, and not the monster I'd expected. He didn't have fangs or claws, or a gun either, for that matter. I had expected my kidnapper to wear some sort of special outfit (for some ridiculous reason), but he wore a red t-shirt and blue jeans. Nothing special, nothing spectacular. He looked like a normal guy. He looked like someone who could be standing behind me in the grocery store, someone who could knock on my door and ask me if I was the one who had called about my pipes acting up. He looked just like a normal man.

"Why am I here?" I asked once my heart was beating at a fairly steady pace. He had simply walked in and sat on the bed, which I noticed had been that big thing to my right. Did he expect me to sleep on that bed? Was I expected to stay here for a long period of time? I blocked those thoughts away, because I couldn't handle them. It was already too much.

"You'll know soon enough," he said, his voice low and raspy.

Now that my eyes had gotten used to the light, and when he seemed to have settled on the bed, I took a quick look around the room I was imprisoned in. I figured I'd hear the bedsprings squeak if he stood up to kill me, and silently I cursed my way of thinking. I didn't want to have given up already, I couldn't give up already. I wasn't going to let him kill me. I sighed and wrinkled my forehead together, pushing myself even further into the left corner of the room. My original assessment had been right; I was in a basement. There was nothing but a bed, a sink and a toilet in the room. Or the word "cell" was a better one to use to describe the space I was in. Cement floor, stone walls, dirty ceiling. Another wave of tears stung my eyes and I had to swallow to stop myself from sobbing. How could this have happened to me? This just didn't happen. People didn't just get kidnapped and taken to basements by strange men. Men that looked ordinary. It just didn't happen.

"I don't want to be here," I whispered suddenly, low and quiet, but with a pained strain to my usually calm and melodic voice. I was begging without words; pleading. He didn't reply, nor did he move. He just sat on the bed with black frames and white sheets. Even the bed looked normal. I wanted him to look angry. Hateful. But the lines of his face were smooth, almost as if he felt nothing at all.

I closed my eyes, turning my face into the corner, making myself as small as I possibly could. I heard him stand up – the bed squeaked, just like I'd anticipated – and his feet moved across the floor. The door made a tired sound as he opened it again, but then I noticed him hesitate for a second.

"I'd advise you to rest for a while; I'll bring you food in a few hours."

Then he left, the door was shut and bolted, and finally I could allow grief to rip through my body. It came slowly at first, but soon I couldn't hold it in anymore. Despair and terror still racked my body, and I had to let it out. I wrapped my arms around my legs and pulled them to my chest, burying my face in my knees as the first tears fell.

"You just don't get kidnapped," I sobbed into the soft fabric of my blue leggings. "You just don't, it doesn't happen to people."

It had happened to me, and I couldn't understand why.


	2. Chapter 2

AN: Sorry for the delay, I just had major surgery but since I realized I've been an idiot and can actually use copy+paste to post new chapters I swear it will become more frequent. See, I've written ALL chapters in one document, and I just felt that it would take forever and a day to split it all up into separate documents. Clearly, that was just me being a little dumb, so here we go. As usual I don't own any characters that appear in Saw.

* * *

Without having a clock there was no way for me to know how much time had passed since I last saw my kidnapper. All I knew was that I'd gotten rid of a lot of tears due to a long cry and that I was exhausted. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction, I stayed clear of the bed and instead crawled into a fetus position in a corner of the room. My tears long since gone, with only sticky cheeks and a burning throat as a remembrance, and with sleep refusing to relieve me from my distress I allowed my mind to tread dangerous waters. Imagining how I'd be rescued or what I'd tell the police probably wasn't the best idea, especially since it looked as if I'd never be able to escape. But I didn't know what else to think of. Flashes of my mother's face came across my inner eye, and I tried my hardest to remember the smell of those chocolate pancakes she used to make, but the only scent that filled my nostrils were that of the dark, hard basement.

Not only did my body ache, it was cold too and strong shivers made my entire being tremble. If I'd been ready to give up my pride I would've used the smooth and soft (well, they looked like it from across the room at least) covers from the bed, but I refused to. I didn't want him for a second to believe that I was accepting his words, or accepting that I wasn't going to be met by the sweet air of freedom sooner than I'd need to use the bed. Or the toilet. I'd thrown one glance towards it earlier and instantly had to hold back a strong urge to vomit. I'd never use that. Never. He couldn't keep me here, he just couldn't. There was no way, I wouldn't have it. I'd break through the concrete and climb the walls rather than die imprisoned. But I knew it was all fantasy, I knew there was nothing I could do, and that made me want to cry again. I bit back the tears however, because they'd do me no good. My mouth was dry and I'd kill for just the smallest sip of water, but my pride stopped me from even gazing towards the sink. No. I wasn't going to need it; I was going to be rescued. I was.

A sudden bang drew me away from my erratic thoughts and I sat up quickly. Too quickly, I realized when the room began to spin in front of my eyes. In a sad attempt to steady myself I held my hands out in front of me, a loud moan escaped my lips as grey spots danced before my eyes.

"You'll feel better once you've eaten and rested." I jumped at his voice. I hadn't even heard him unlock or open the door; I'd been too busy trying not to pass out. I ignored his comment and allowed my blue eyes to study him carefully. At the slightest opportunity I'd run towards the door. I would. I had to. I couldn't stay there, I couldn't be expected to. It wasn't reasonable.

I prayed for him to move away from the doorway, to walk back to the bed and sit down, as he had the last time. That would give me at least the same distance to the doorway as him, but he remained still. His eyes stared towards my trembling form and I felt pathetic. I was dirty, frightened and sad. I must've looked like a child, shying away into a corner like that. My heart sank and I felt that lump in my throat again, pestering me, reminding me of my weakness. In his rough hands he held a tray which had a bowl and a cup on it. The same second he noticed my eyes lingering on the cup I turned my gaze away. He took a slow step forward, making me flinch and press myself closer to the wall, almost as if I hoped I could somehow squeeze myself right through it.

"You'll die if you don't eat or drink," he said matter-of-factly, his voice ringing with indifference. I felt myself quiver at the sound, more so from fear than the cold.

"I'm going to die anyway, right?" My question didn't seem to faze him even the slightest. I hated how quiet my voice was. Even though I'd attempted to sound angry, I sounded only sad, childlike.

"Eat up." He placed the tray on the concrete in front of me, but like a stubborn child I refused to look in his direction. "You'll eat when you're hungry." He sounded so sure of himself I wanted to hit my small fists against his stupid face. I'd never eat his food. Never.

"Fuck you," I dared myself to mumble, almost hoping that he'd react with anger, or at least some form of feeling. The way he seemed to not care about anything made my skin crawl and it reminded me of a spider, just waiting for its prey to get tangled in its web. At least if he was angry or shouted at me to go to hell or shut the fuck up, well then he'd show that he felt something. He didn't seem to feel anything at all. He was a predator and I was his prey.

"If you want I can bring you a calendar or a watch, to help you keep track of time. I understand it must feel very timeless to be trapped in a room like this." It wasn't a question, it was a statement, and he wasn't interested in an answer. With that he was gone, leaving me again to myself and my dread. My heart pounded in my chest and my ears were ringing with all the words I wished I had screamed after him. Finally I couldn't contain my anger anymore.

Standing for the first time since I'd woken up, I felt a dizzy spell wash over me again but I held onto the cold and uneven wall and didn't fall back down. My head was spinning so wildly it felt as if I'd just gotten off a rollercoaster, but I ignored it. Bending my knees I picked up the tray and took three long – but shaky – steps towards the door. Anger seared through my body, not only at my kidnapper, but also at whoever was up there (God or whatever) for letting this happen to me.

"Why don't you just fucking kill me, you bastard?!" I screamed, my voice hoarse from the lack of proper use and the weeping. I threw the tray with all my strength, as feeble as it was, against the door, the food and drink painting the walls and floors with their sticky substances. "You're nothing! Do you hear me? You're nothing but a sick fuck that kidnaps girls for his own sick pleasure!"

My words had lost their sense, and my brain couldn't stop my mouth from spilling words of anger and disgust. All the emotions that I had built up in my body; fear, rage, sorrow, hurt, confusion, they just exploded in a moment. I allowed my bare foot to make contact with the cold steel of the door, ignoring the shooting pain that traveled up my entire leg.

"I want to go home!" Hammering with my fists on the door now, I refused to stop shouting insults, any foul words I could think of, they all escaped me with complete ease. And I wasn't the kind of person who even said damn when I tripped on something. "I'm going to kill you!" – My voice broke down at last – "I'm going to kill you!"

My mangled fists stopped pounding against the unmoving door, my whole body convulsing with sobs. Falling to my knees in front of the door I continued screaming until my voice had completely disappeared and nothing but guttural gasps passed over my lips.

"I want to go home," I pleaded quietly to the bottom of the door.

* * *

_The sun hit my face, and no matter how much I wanted to escape it I had nowhere to hide. Groaning I realized there was no point in trying to stay asleep, so finally I sat up in my soft bed, stretching lazily. With a quick glance on the alarm clock on my nightstand I noticed I had another three hours before work began, so I could handle a slow start. Encouraged by that realization I jumped out of bed, shivering slightly at the sudden cold without the covers hugging my slim body. _

"_Good morning!" I called to no one in particular, just like I did every morning. Just because I lived alone it didn't mean I never talked out loud. I talked to myself all the time, and sometimes I just talked in general. I didn't want to live with someone, but I didn't want my apartment to always be quiet either._

_I skipped towards the bathroom at the other end of my somewhat cramped apartment, grabbing a towel from a chair in the kitchen on my way. At the same time as I reached the door, I started humming a song I'd heard on the radio to myself. I didn't have a particular favorite band, though I did enjoy music, and I usually never even knew the name of the artist or the song._

_My voice echoed against the green tiles in my bathroom as I sang, having switched from just humming quietly to full-blown shouting out the lyrics. Some words I didn't know, and then I simply added my own. It didn't matter; I was by myself and only did it because it made me feel good. Cheerful. I closed the door, but didn't bother locking it behind me. I continued singing, tossing the towel next to the forever dripping sink, and threw a quick glance at my image in my mirror. My smiling face looked back on me, with my dark hair in a tangled mess standing up in all directions, my plump lips opened and closed as uneven tones fell from them. I was very ordinary, but I didn't mind. It was perfect for me._

* * *

I woke up with a start, my body convulsing with panic. It took me a few seconds to remember where I was, and to remember my dream. I realized slowly, while rubbing my tired eyes, that he must have gotten me then, when I was getting ready to have a shower. Why the hell didn't I lock the door behind me? If I had, would things have ended differently? I had to stop myself from cursing silently in my head, because I knew it wouldn't have made a difference. My apartment door was locked, I knew as much, and he'd gotten through that somehow. Even through the security chain, without alarming me. Maybe he'd done it while I was sleeping. Maybe he'd been waiting in the bathroom when I entered it. It didn't matter, he'd taken me, specifically me, I just couldn't understand why.

Slowly I sat up, running a hand through my tangled hair, feeling a stinging sensation prickling the skin of my fingers. I held them out in front of me and studied them in the weak light from the dirty lamp in the ceiling. They weren't just bruised from my losing fight with the door, but decorated with small cuts as well. I sobbed once, when a familiar feeling caused a pressure in my stomach.

"Fuck." It couldn't be happening, I couldn't be there, it couldn't be true.

Slowly and with great effort I managed to stand up and using the wall as a crutch I made my way towards the toilet which was positioned in the corner opposite the one I'd previously occupied. Shifting from foot to foot I stood in front of it for a second, weighing my options.

No matter how stubborn I was, no matter how easily I could ignore the hunger I felt or the burning thirst in my throat, I couldn't ignore the urges of my body. I had to pee. Period.

"Shit." I had no option, it had to be done.

My leggings fell into a pool around my ankles, but I held a tight grip on my blue panties, not wanting them to reveal more than they had to. Making sure to keep a strict eye on the door I finished as quickly as I could, ripping some tissue off from the roll when I was done, making sure to pull my clothes up the same second I was done. My face burned with shame, but I tried telling myself that I'd had no other choice. It would have been even more humiliating to soil myself. I flushed the toilet and washed my hands, feeling my mouth water at just the site of the cold liquid pouring over my stinging hands. But it didn't look clean, and I refused to fall for the temptation. I kept repeating silently to myself that I could ignore many things but not when nature called.

A giggle of insanity suddenly erupted from within me; I had to struggle to quiet it down. I couldn't lose my mind, that wouldn't do me any favors. I needed to stay sharp and to not give up. If I was going to survive my stay, I had to stay smart and hopeful. My positive thoughts had to win over the thoughts surrounding my impending death. If I gave up, if I accepted that I was a prisoner and was going to die, then I would really be lost.


	3. Chapter 3

AN: Another chappie. Woo.

* * *

Nothing in his body felt right as he heard her scream. The door didn't budge, but the sound of her fists crashing against it was unmistakable. This wasn't what he wanted; it wasn't what he had wished would happen. She was supposed to be strong, to handle it, to see as he saw. She was supposed to understand and agree, to save as he saved. She was there for one reason and one reason alone, and that was why he had deprived her of her freedom, and he'd made the judgment that she'd be able to handle it. To learn. To listen.

This was wrong, and he didn't want to hear her anymore. Sighing, John Kramer rose from his seat and walked away from the sound of the crying girl. He didn't think it'd affect him, but it did, and he hated it. Not even seeing the life slip away from others, literally, had affected him, but this did. He tried his best to ignore her pleas and her outbursts of aggression as he walked down the corridor, heading towards his safety heaven. As he walked further and further away her cries dimmed down, and he could no longer make out the words she was screaming.

John hesitated for a moment, lingering glancing behind him. Then he came to his senses and walked away.


	4. Chapter 4

AN: I have no idea if anyone's even reading, but hey, here's another chapter.

* * *

After using the toilet in my cell I decided that sleeping in the bed for a while wouldn't steal anymore of my pride. After peeing so publicly it felt as if nothing I did could make it worse. Of course the fact that my hands and feet had started turning blue from the coolness of the floor also played a big part in the defeated decision. Shivering and still with tears glittering in my eyelashes I crawled towards the bed, too tired and exhausted to bother standing up again. I wasn't sure how long I'd been in this prison, but I knew I should eat or drink something. However, that was a satisfaction I wasn't going to give him. Either he let me go, or I was going to starve myself to death.

"I'm taking control over this," I mumbled through dry lips just as I reached the bed. The sheets felt feathery under my fingers, and for a second I wasn't sure I'd ever felt anything as soft before.

It wasn't without trouble that I managed to climb into bed and place myself under the covers, pulling my knees up to my chest to try and regain warmth a little bit quicker. Starving myself was easy, as many teenagers before me I'd had a period of "dieting" and I was used to the concept of not eating. It'd been years since I'd purposely gone days without any proper food, but now it seemed like a skill that would come in handy. A stupid decision probably, but since I couldn't control anything else – I didn't even have enough strength to try and fight him with violence – then at least the way I died would be my choice.

"This is so fucking unbelievable," I giggled all of a sudden. "How can this even happen to people? To me, on top of that. This is utterly insane. And now I'm talking to myself. What the hell is wrong with me? I'm going to die either way." The harshness of my own words scared me more than I wanted to admit. I didn't want to think that way but it was impossible to stop the darkness of the thoughts just as little as it was possible to keep my eyes open for any longer.

I turned around, so that my back was against the rest of the room, burying myself deeper underneath the heavenly warmth on top of me. A million crazy thoughts gnawed at me, stopping me from finding rest in spite of my eyelids feeling so heavy. I didn't want to acknowledge the thoughts, but with nothing else to distract me it was difficult. Finally, after picturing the sad faces of my mother for the tenth time, and imagining her beautiful speech at my funeral, I'd had enough. Placing my hands over my ears I did the only thing I could think of that might calm me down enough to fall asleep.

I sang.

* * *

For just a second I allowed myself the dangerous thought that I was fine, that I'd woken up in my own bed, and that no one wanted me any harm. Even if it was just for a second, it ripped my soul to so many pieces it felt like nothing would be able to put it back together again. My head hurt from the lack of food and water. I blinked my eyes a few times to get used to the light – it seemed he wasn't intending on turning them off again – and then stretched my aching limbs as much as I could muster. Even a marathon runner surely wouldn't be that sore after a race.

The sound of the door made me jump, and quickly I fell back down, pulling the covers over my head. I had no interest in speaking with my kidnapper. I could hear him open and close the door, and he took a few steps before coming to a halt. With my lungs hating me for not allowing them new air I listened intently for him to do something. In the end I had to take a shaky breath to keep myself from passing out and my chest expanded with ease.

"I know you're awake." It was a statement and nothing else. "I don't need you to say anything; I just need you to listen." His voice did for the first time since I'd woken up the day before (or was it the day before that even?) contain some form of emotion, though I wasn't sure which or if I liked it.

I didn't reply, if he really didn't need me to say something then I wouldn't.

"My name is John Kramer," he said. "You might know me as Jigsaw."

Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh no. I'd rather have been kidnapped by Hitler than this guy. My entire body started shaking; there was nothing I could do to stop it. Just as little could I stop the tears forming in my eyes or the way my body seemed to have forgotten how to function.

"All I need you to do is listen," he repeated. "Can you do that?"

Not daring to risk angering him, I made sure to nod clearly enough so that he could tell that I was agreeing, even if I was still hidden underneath the blankets.

"Good." He seemed satisfied, a pang of anger soared through me, but the fear gripping my heart was much more prominent. "Everything you've heard about me is true, except I've never murdered anyone. You see, I want people to appreciate their lives. I want people to see what they have and be grateful. It makes me very angry when people are born into privilege and they throw it away on drugs or prostitution. Or they are happily married but still sleep with an attractive colleague."

There was a moment of deafening silence, and all I could hear was the hammering sound of my own heart. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to say something or not, but I opted for staying quiet; he'd said he didn't need me to talk, just listen. I didn't want to listen either though, all I wanted was to block his voice out and let my mind wander to nicer places, but it didn't seem possible. Not with his low voice humming in my ears.

"What I do is simply testing people, to make sure they deserve to live. To make them appreciate the life they have and to stop throwing it away. I want women to respect their bodies and men to love their families. I want everyone to look at life and stop for just a second every day and say 'I'm alive and I'm happy for that'."

Not being able to hold it back anymore I sniffled once, painfully aware that the sound was unmistakable.

"I provide people with the tools to take control of their own lives. I provide them with everything they need to stay alive, as long as they choose that for themselves. Sometimes the price to pay for their lives is big, but if they survive they'll realize they've offered nothing in vain. They'll be alive and they will cherish themselves and everyone around them. This is all I want for people. I don't want them to fail the test, I want them to succeed and learn." His words scared me and made me angry at the same time. I was grateful that he seemed to be ignoring my obvious crying, but his words sparked something deep within me.

His bullshit sparked my will to fight.

"Life shouldn't be wasted; people need to prove that they deserve it."

Finally he hit the mark and I sat up quickly, turning around to face him. I was barely aware of the fact that I must've looked atrocious, my hair tangled and messy, my eyes red and puffy and my cheeks wet with tears. I didn't even react to the fact that he'd somehow brought a chair into the room without me noticing and was sitting only a few feet away from the bed I was occupying.

"Oh that's such a load of bullshit!" I snapped at him hoarsely, ignoring the part of me that was trying to inform me that making a murderer angry was probably not the best way to stay alive.

He raised an eyebrow slowly and with his annoyingly gray eyes he studied me for a moment.

"I don't need you to speak," he reminded me but I ignored him. Now I was riled up and couldn't back down before I'd spoken my mind.

"Why do people have to deserve to live?" My nostrils flared and I angrily wiped at my tearstained cheeks with the back of my hand.

"Life is a gift; people need to treat it as such."

"Bullshit! Do you know how many people die every day? People who deserve to live? That's a violent fucking amount of people, and they die no matter how much they appreciate their lives or how thankful they are for being alive! People live and people die, that's fucking life, you're not God – you can't put yourself in a position where you decide singlehanded what people need to do to earn the right to live!" I spat my words at him with as much force as I could muster, my hands moving rapidly in front of me as sentence after sentence poured from my mouth.

"I've never claimed to be God."

"But that's what you're fucking doing!" I cried, raising my voice another step, now just shy of screaming. I leaned forward on the bed, my face dangerously close to his. "Get out."

"I asked you to listen." His voice didn't change even the slightest; if I'd made him angry he was good at hiding it. My mind knew no reason though. I was completely blinded with rage.

"I told you to get the fuck out! I'm not going to listen to this, what you're saying is insane!" Rising to my feet I held my arms out in front of me, getting ready to use force if I had to. I wobbled dangerously but managed to stay upright. He just had to get away.

"Those are not the rules."

"I don't care about your fucking rules!" He stood up when I aimed my first slap at his face. Grabbing my wrist with surprising force he made his anger clear, even if his voice wouldn't betray him. "Get out!" I screamed before crying out in pain as he twisted my arm to the left, forcing my body to follow.

I kicked at him, I screamed at him, I tried to claw at him and bite him. There was no strength left in my body, and yet I did my very best to do some kind of damage and get him to leave me alone. I didn't want to listen to his disgusting stories or violent ideas. I didn't care if he left and never came back, leaving me to starve. I just wanted him gone.

"Get out, get out, get out, _get out!_" He pushed me away from him and I tripped over my own feet, falling on my ass. "I told you to get the fuck out, you freak!" I managed to get my fingers around the cup I'd thrown at the door together with the tray earlier and I hurled it at him, hoping it'd hit its goal.

The emotions he'd shown had again disappeared, and as I sat on the floor yelling and swearing at him he merely walked to the door, opened it, and left. My cries became weaker and weaker as my screams turned into wordless high pitched howls. Against better judgment I started hitting the cement with my already mangled hands. I had so much aggression within me that needed out, not being able to take it out on the monster who'd stolen my freedom I decided that the floor would have to do. It was as if I had a million emotions surging through my body, coming from my very core, and I couldn't find any other way to free them from their prison of flesh than to take out my fury on the floor and myself.

I still had no idea what he wanted from me, but now I knew who he was, and unfortunately he was nothing shy of a monster.


End file.
